


The Ache For Home

by schizoauthoress



Series: The Lost Legion MC (before the end) [1]
Category: The Marine (Movies), The Marine 5: Battlefront
Genre: Brother Feels, Explicit Language, Gen, Pre-Canon, family can be such a fraught thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-23 14:14:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19703029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schizoauthoress/pseuds/schizoauthoress
Summary: Cash comes home from overseas.





	The Ache For Home

**Author's Note:**

> building up the relationships within the Lost Legion MC before the fateful night that Jake Carter was brought into their mess, just to make the events of the movie hurt more. why yes I am back on my bullshit again.

"Where is he?" Vincent Martel huffed, once again craning his neck to see over the heads of the people milling around the busy baggage claim. Folks generally gave him a wide berth -- intimidated by the imposing figure he cut in black leather and denim, with his obvious prison tattoos on display -- but the airport was especially busy on weekends and the crowding couldn't be avoided. "The plane landed twenty minutes ago."

"I dunno, maybe he had to take a piss. You bobbin' around like a nervous chicken ain't gonna make him show up sooner."

Vincent dropped back onto his heels and glared at the man behind him. His best friend was lounging -- as well as someone that tall and broad could in a space not quite meant to accommodate them -- in one of the hard plastic chairs, looking bored. He was similarly dressed in dark leather and denim, even though they'd opted to ride here in Vincent's truck rather than their motorcycles. (Cash probably wouldn't appreciate having to ride on the back of a motorcycle after hours of commercial flying.) 

More than one person snuck sideways glances at Rodrigo and Vincent, all annoying, meek things trying to assess for threat. Vincent tamped down the impulse to smack the side of Rodrigo's head -- as irritated as the man's words made him, he knew Rodrigo was correct. (And airport security would just love any excuse to pounce on them and toss them out for 'making a scene'.) They just had to wait.

Vincent hated waiting.

"Sit yer ass down, Vin. Cash will show up when he shows." Rodrigo said. Despite the put-upon sigh that Vincent gave as he complied, flopping onto the seat beside Rodrigo in a show of ill temper, Rodrigo grinned and joked, "It ain't like we could miss him; his hair is the same ridiculous orange as yours."

Vincent snorted at the old, familiar gibe. "Fuck off," he retorted without heat.

****

Cash Martel gave a polite nod in reply to yet another 'Thank you for your service,' and ducked away through the crowd before they could say anything else. He'd long since lost count of how many times he'd heard those words, mostly from civilians with no real idea of what his service entailed. It was rote, it was meaningless because they were only doing what was expected of them. But they wouldn't understand if he said such things to them, so he didn't bother.

Cash walked on, feeling as though he were trying to move through hip-deep mud. He knew his brother was in the airport waiting for him, but beyond that he didn't know what to expect. Vincent hadn't been happy when he'd enlisted, years ago, and their communication since then was sporadic and stilted. 

If Vincent was still angry, if he ended up turning Cash away... Cash had nowhere else to go. Cash had nowhere else to call home. 

Part of him wanted to run, to avoid the possible rejection. But Cash walked on, steady if slow, ever forward. Better to know than to wonder.

****

"Why're you so damn jumpy anyway?" Rodrigo asked, bouncing one leg idly as they waited. "You an' Cash 've always been close, right?"

"We were," Vincent replied, "until he enlisted. It's my fault. I flipped my shit, like an idiot, said he was ashamed of me, said... all sorts of stupid crap."

Rodrigo drummed his fingers on one of the narrow armrests and said, "Bet he screamed right back at ya."

"Yeah," Vincent looked down at his hands, as if the answers were written in the motor oil ingrained into the lines of his palms. "And he's re-enlisted two times since. Cash would rather jump out of airplanes and get shot at by terrorists than be around me."

"That what he said?"

"He didn't need to."

Rodrigo dug into Vincent's ribs with one elbow and laughed. (At least two people altered their path away from the set of chairs occupied by Rodrigo and Vincent.) "You're so full of shit, Vin! Ask the kid, for God's sake!"

"That simple, huh?" Vincent asked sarcastically.

"Yeah, dumbass," Rodrigo elected to ignore Vincent's tone, shaking his head. "I can't believe you. It doesn't have to mean he hates you. What if Cash just likes the job? Or he's sticking with it because it's good money?"

Vincent scowled and shifted out of the range of Rodrigo's elbow. He didn't dispute those suggestions. All he said, gruffly, was "Maybe..." as he folded his arms over his chest.

Rodrigo chucked to himself. Vincent refused to acknowledge that amusement, scanning the crowd again for any sign of his younger brother.

****

As the patterned carpeting gave way to the shifting metallic gleam of the escalators, Cash lifted his gaze from the floor. He was getting closer to where Vincent waited. Anxiety felt like a vise closing around his chest. He could charge into danger, into a hail of gunfire, without being paralyzed by fear -- so why was this so hard?

'Well,' Cash thought wryly, 'I don't want to do **that** anymore either...'

He stepped onto the downward-moving escalator and tried to spot his brother. Maybe if he saw Vincent first, he could get a read on his brother's mood. 

"Hey, Cash!" a gravelly, recognizable voice bellowed up at him, "Cash Martel! Over here!"

Rodrigo Vescovi grinned when Cash looked over, and started waving enthusiastically. Next to Rodrigo, Vincent had covered his eyes with one hand and was shaking his head. That mortified reaction from Vincent was definitely Rodrigo's goal.

Cash sighed, fighting the urge to smile back at Rodrigo. As funny as it was to see Vin caught flatfooted by this turn of events, Cash's anxiety ramped up at the realization that most of the people here had eyes on him now. He got off the escalator and strode forward. There was no more time to worry about how Vincent would react.

For his part, Vincent shoved Rodrigo back into one of the plastic seats and was heading right for Cash. 

Cash racked his brains for something to say and came up empty. Vincent didn't say anything, and didn't wait for a word from Cash, before wrapping Cash up in an embrace. It felt heartbreakingly familiar -- the same kind of hug that made Cash feel safe as a small child. Cash clung to Vincent as if the physical contact shielded him somehow, hands pressed to the leather of Vincent's cut.

Vincent spoke softly into Cash's ear, asking "How long is your leave this time?" and Cash's resolve crumbled.

He held onto Vincent even tighter and choked out "I'm done. I'm fuckin' done." His voice broke with the weight of unshed tears as he whispered, "I wanna come home."

"Of course," Vincent replied immediately, cradling Cash's head against one shoulder. 'Home' had never been a place for them. It had always meant each other. "Of course, little brother. You don't need to ask."

As if making a confession, Cash breathed, "Half my friends are dead." Saying it aloud did nothing to ease the pain, but maybe the distressed noise Vincent made as he hugged Cash even closer did bring a little relief. Cash knew Vincent could understand. Vincent knew what it meant to lose people who mattered, in a dozen different ways, up to and including death. He'd lost a lot -- they'd both lost a lot.

"Tell me about them, when you're ready. I'll remember them with you."

Cash nodded. "I'd like that."

They broke apart, but Vincent kept his hands atop Cash's shoulders, studying the younger man intently. New lines of stress and grief made Cash look markedly older than the last time they'd been face to face, and the haunted look in those dark eyes worried Vincent. Cash's hair was still Army-regulation short, but his cheeks and chin were shadowed with stubble, and Vincent was pretty sure that there were threads of silver in both.

"Told ya you were bein' a dumbass, Vin," Rodrigo said, punctuating the statement with a thump to Vincent's back with his open palm. Cash laughed. (Both Rodrigo and Vincent graciously ignored how rusty and strained the sound was.)

"What did you do, Vin?"

"Didn't do a thing!" Vincent exclaimed -- before either of them could argue that, he had slung each arm around Cash's and Rodrigo's shoulders and tried to usher them to the nearest exit. The two exchanged a look over Vincent's bowed head and dug in their heels, silently refusing to be moved.

Cash prompted, "Rigo?"

"He's been stressing out all day thinking you hate him," was Rodrigo's reply.

Cash snorted. "Well, if you're gonna bust his chops for that, you'll have to go after me, too. I was worrying rather than sleeping last night."

Rodrigo laughed loudly. "Oh, so you two are a matched set of losers!"

"Ah, well," Cash said, "guess that's just a consequence of bein' raised by him."

"Gonna make me cry, brat," Vincent mumbled, releasing Rodrigo to scrub at his own face and avoid their eyes for a moment. Another glance was exchanged while he couldn't see it -- then Rodrigo stepped aside and Cash put an arm around Vincent in return.

"Let's get out of here before we ruin your reputation," Cash said gently. Vincent leaned into him.

"Sounds good to me."

*-*-*-*-*


End file.
